“We’ll have to lie low a while,” he said to Nomad. “We’ll strike their trail after they’ve gone on, and then we’ll do what we can.”
Old Nomad made a grimace.
“Buffler, I feels like lyin’ low fer a week; fer I’m thet stiff and sore thet every inch o’ me feels as ef it had been beat with an ox whip. I reckon I’ve got you to thank fer my life, too; fer, try as I would, I couldn’t git rid of them cords on my wrists. And, gee, but them wrists aire hurtin’ yit!”
They were red and swollen, and very painful.
From the top of the nearest hill, to which he climbed with great carefulness, Buffalo Bill viewed, as well as he could, the surrounding country. He saw the road agents under Black John moving off in the direction of the stage trail. It surprised him, and for a time puzzled him; then he hit on what seemed to him the true solution.
“They’ve forced Lena Forest to tell them where the emeralds are buried, and they’re going to get them. Too bad! But I don’t see how it’s to be prevented now. Of course, no one can blame her for telling, when, no doubt, she was threatened, and frightened.”
He surveyed the returning cavalcade with his field glasses; and saw the two prisoners in the midst of the outlaws.
As he lay thus on the top of the hill, he saw on another hill, some distance away, a horseman appear. He swung the glasses around and pointed them at this horseman, while a cry of surprise broke from his lips.
“Pawnee Bill!”
And Pawnee Bill was supposed to be at that moment speeding on his way to Glendive!